“Anyone ‘fess up?” asked Dom as he got himself a glass of water in the kitchen. Owen was packing up the uneaten ham to shove it back in the refrigerator; the tall man with thinning, pepper-and-salt hair looked over at Dom.
“Nah,” he said. “Could’ve been anyone.”
“Hasn’t affected anyone’s appetite.” The food on the table was decimated by now; even Kiko’s eggs were gone, despite the presence of the razor blade. Owen pulled out a few packages of store cookies and popped the lids open.
“It was probably someone drunk enough to think it was a joke,” he said, setting the cookies out.
“Probably,” said Dom, although he was unconvinced. That plus a creepy man no one could pin down spelled mystery to him, and not the particularly safe kind. “I’m going to have another walk through the rooms. Reall
